


The Difficulties of Free Shipping

by anguy



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s), Short, email, really just weird, weird format
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:10:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anguy/pseuds/anguy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>" I wanted to let you know that I attempted to purchase NRA bumper stickers recently and have yet to receive them. You see, I followed the directions to a tee. It was a crisp summer day, malevolent tumbleweeds swirled by as I stepped outside, probably leading neighborhood children astray with their shrill, keening voices. I attempted to shout, “NRA,” firmly cupping my hands around my mouth and letting my voice carry across town to where I expected some foreboding yet intelligent force would hear me and include free shipping."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Difficulties of Free Shipping

To whomever it concerns,

I wanted to let you know that I attempted to purchase NRA bumper stickers recently and have yet to receive them. You see, I followed the directions to a tee. It was a crisp summer day, malevolent tumbleweeds swirled by as I stepped outside, probably leading neighborhood children astray with their shrill, keening voices. I attempted to shout, “NRA,” firmly cupping my hands around my mouth and letting my voice carry across town to where I expected some foreboding yet intelligent force would hear me and include free shipping.

Now let me take a detour for a moment and explain something. Recently I lost one of my children to Radon Canyon. It was a sad week for our family as we dealt with the death, possible dismemberment or (hopefully) their captivity in the old Abandoned Mine Shaft. Britney would have Game of Thrones there, oh how she loves those crazy kings and their battles! The Sheriff Secret Police had abducted her not one week prior after I had forgotten to take part in the recent forced liver donation drive. You see, I only have so much liver left after the last three drives and I am trying to keep what little I have to myself, though I now know that is selfish both to citizens of Night Vale and to my children’s welfare.

Well, we spent the week in appropriate mourning attire and my husband tore his clothing and scrubbed ashes across his body as is the custom of men in mourning. But now the week has passed and we have discovered to our surprise and delight we have received a coupon! Attached was a letter which has since been burned-per the instructions of the Sheriff’s Secret Police but it stated that they had taken the wrong child. They had meant after all to take my youngest son, Stephen. The letter did not state why he was needed and we were told not to question it, just that a car would arrive the next evening at 10:45 post-meridian sharp and he was to have himself prepared to leave. On to the coupon. Because of the mix-up with the kids (how funny the Sheriff’s Secret Police can be sometimes!), we were issued a coupon that is copied below.

  


Deciding to use it in the name of government and instead of our own selfish desires for wheat-free pizza from Big Rico’s (No one does a slice like Big Rico), we wanted to use it to purchase bumper stickers. However, I have not received these bumper stickers. I am getting concerned as it has been almost a fortnight and we really, really wanted them. My husband is even considering using it for Subway instead, but meatball subs always leave him with indigestion.

They did not arrive after the first day of shouting, not even when we left a manila folder against the doorstep with a carnation atop it and the coupon sealed within. I thought perhaps I had been misheard. Maybe I had shouted “NBA”, or “ENNARAYAYE” or something otherwise nonsensical. So, with determination, I stepped forthwith onto my porch again, watched as darkened entities circled overhead in the evening sky and the Glow Cloud hovered in the distance, a faint smell of rotting meat descending with each soft caress of the evening wind.

“NRA,” I shouted with my teeth pulled back from my lips. However, at exactly that time guess who would take the time to drive by? None other than Steve Carlsberg. You know, I really hate that guy. I heard he recently entered his Pekingese in a dog competition in Desert Bluffs, last month. It must be because last year someone managed to summon Cerberus from the depths of the underworld in an gross and painfully unsportmanly attempt to beat out Cecil’s stand in picture of Khoshekh (who somehow won though he is clearly a cat and not able to leave the men’s room anyway). Just because Cerberus managed to viciously dismember two of the contestants really doesn’t give Carlsberg any right to ignore Night Vale. It’s not like he lives here! Besides how can you blame the dog when it is clearly the owner at fault?

Anyway, as I was saying. His clunker of a car rolled by at exactly that time, muffling my words completely. So I stood in the wake of his smoke fumed exit and coughed to myself, managing to bring up the occasional but totally normal black goo that citizens do sometimes vomit.

With perseverance, I carried onward on my mission for stickers. “NRA,” I shouted, “NRA. NRA. NRA.” Four times for dramatic affect. Five was too many, everyone knows what happens when you shout five times continuously

They still did not arrive.

Now at this point, dear reader—I was beginning to get a little frustrated. All of the effort I put forth seemed for naught, and I’d already lost two children (not over this but still, their loss was a hindrance on my desire to get these stickers, do believe it.) I thought of calling up Pamela Winchell and giving her a piece of my mind, but the last time I’d done that-she had indeed taken a piece of my mind. I still see it when I walk by the mayor’s office, sitting in a jar of formaldehyde upon her mantelpiece.

I however resorted to the use of my bloodstone circle. I found a local rooster wandering not far outside of town. Sure, it had two heads but what roosters don’t these days? I am upset to say, I slaughtered it and drained its blood into the basin in an attempt to summon whatever forces controlled the delivering and shipping of NRA bumper stickers.

“Summone pro me veterem deos abyssi,” I chanted, “Qui permitte mihi loqui ad NRA imperasti.”

As I chanted the bloodstone grew black and filled with a frothy liquid. It bubbled and steam issued hotly from the wet hole in the center. The blood had turned lighter and lighter within that dark, frothing liquid till finally it seemed like some horrible and inescapable crack into another dimension (one surely filled with unimaginable and indefatigable horrors).

“Your call cannot be completed as dialed,” a female voice said with malignant intent, “Please try again later.”

And that’s where I am at now. I have tried everything and still I have no NRA bumper stickers. I have done all that I can think is in my power. My husband found me on the front steps shouting at the sky in heaving sobs, “NRA NRA NRA NRA NRA.” Tears streaked my face and I growled in a guttural voice as he approached me. But as he drew me into his arms, tentacles curling around my waist, I remembered myself and I knew I had called out five times.

That darkness is coming for me. Please at least let me have my stickers before I go.

 

Sincerely yours,

Patricia Whalebone

Of Patricia Whalebone & Assoc.

We will say YES! To anything you require.

Unless we say no. Pray we do not say no.


End file.
